I’m the friend who always listens.
I like to think I’m the cross-product of both my parents. I’m empathetic and caring, like my mom, but my dad has shown me the benefits of taking a step back from feelings and making a rational plan. These two perspectives work in harmony when solving people-problems; you can never escape the fact that humans have emotions, but the best solutions often come from analyzing a larger view, encompassing feelings and reality.
I sound like a therapist, which is why I’m probably going to be one. I’ve always filled this role in friendships. Often, I don’t seek out the “counselor” position, but I’ve been told that the way I act and speak encourages others to open up to me about their lives. This is not something I would ever attempt to escape — those conversations that end with someone else feeling better about themselves are what empower me and add purpose to my life. It excites me to read profiles of the Myers-Briggs personality type INFJ, which describes people like me as “insightful” and “introspective.” We see both the details and the big picture.
If you’re like me, you know that, on rare occasion, this gets tiring.
I love to talk about ideas and feelings, and I genuinely enjoy encouraging my friends and attempting to find solutions for their problems. However, there comes a point when I feel so drained from solving the issues of the world around me that I don’t have the motivation to look diagnostically at my own life. My issues fall to the bottom of my priority list so that I have energy for the people who have become comfortable with counting on me in times of need.
The most important thing my best friend has ever said to me was, “Do not keep yourself from feeling the full brunt of everything that is making you ache inside. Do not let the world crush your heart and soul and spirit.” She was trying to tell me that bottling up my own emotions for the sake of other people is not the same as being a faithful friend; this was revolutionary to me. It must seem obvious to many people, but I had never had the frame of mind that yearns to explain my internal conflicts to others. I figured that I was the problem solver for everyone else; shouldn’t I just be that for myself? My constant over-analyzing should lead me to my own solutions, right?
Yes, I can take care of myself, but I’ve come to see that I don’t always have to. I’m independent, I’m an extroverted introvert (as trite as that phrase has become, I’m owning it) and I want to affect change in the lives of others. I can be all of that and still need my best friend to text me every 30 seconds saying everything’s going to be OK. It’s OK to use vulnerability as your strength, and it’s OK to need your problems to be heard.
